The Struggle
by loveoverpride
Summary: We cannot think of being acceptable to others until we have first proven acceptable to ourselves. - Malcolm X - One shots that look into the inward battles that Olivia and Fitz faced. (Inspired by 6x12 and 7x03)
1. Chapter 1

The words stuck to her heart like a magnet. Years had passed and every single word that he uttered - false, degrading, poisonous - were still deeply rooted within her. Like a wounded animal, trapped and broken, her mind could not get past this. As much as she tried to believe that all the insults and side eyes were beneath her, this was the norm. It had been since she was a child. With no one else to defend her. To tell her, _No, this is not who you are_. To look her in the eye and promise that she was not like this.

But in the mirror, that was all she saw. A weakling who could not survive without his help. The training - under the guise of top-ranked boarding schools and complicated lectures - was her guidebook. Her mission was to be his pride and joy. Which in turn, resulted in only being used to bring down leaders, and men who could not think past their primal urges.

To ask for help was a crime. To express her feelings was shameful. No one did that. Not in her circles. The word "therapy" was a curse word. Something _we_ don't do. Being vulnerable was not an option. When asked, she'd snarl and get defensive. Protect the person who she had no business protecting. In spite of herself, she'd spew the lies that were given to her. Disguised as truth. Her truth.

Now, she was damaged. Always fearing her actions would disappoint. Knowing she was not worthy of anyone's love and care. So, she couldn't give her all. Every man who looked at her, was only seeing a facade. An award-winning act that had been created, displayed, and revised for decades. Friends could tell she wasn't herself, but instead of releasing grief in the form of tears or confessions, she'd pour another glass for them to drink, so that they could share and shift the conversation.

Every night, whether she was alone, or in the arms of one who truly did love her, the thoughts lingered. Pain could be dulled, but it was still there. Even when his hands would try to heal, comforting her, speaking bold promises of love, and even going beyond what was necessary to show her. It still wasn't enough to prove that she was worth the love she needed. The darkness was still taking over time and again.

What had she become? A powerful woman who could bring others to their knees in submission. Demand respect in the position she held. But when the white hat was tossed off of her head and she was stripped of the strong suit of power, she couldn't receive that courtesy. She wouldn't allow that courtesy to be given. It was obvious she was being abused and humiliated. And she wouldn't speak. When she tried, the opportunity would be shoved in her face and she'd shrink within herself. Others would try to break through the prison walls of her soul, but she would push them away. Every time. Knowing that it was worth something - being the martyr would elevate everyone else and she'd still win.

But until she could see that living outside under his watchful eye was possible, she would always lose. Until she scrubbed herself clean of the mess that was her father, she would never gain anything. The people she loved, the honor she deserved. The freedom to be herself.


	2. Chapter 2

Foolishly, he stared out the large windows, anticipating a car to come down the gravel driveway. But it never came.

He watched.

His routine was finally normal again, or however normal could be for an former President. Instead of being waited on, he did his best to do everything on his own. Alarm set to 7, cook breakfast and coffee, with the intent of sitting in the green room by 8. The newspaper being his trusty companion. Even an occasional drive into town. The sneaky rebel.

Running was the bane of his existence, but he ordered a new pair of sneakers, and ran around for a mile. Starting out with a jog, then escalating to a smooth sprint, putting Luther to shame.

He was making friends - sort of. His weekly trips to the bar were nice. Having Jillian hand him a cold one and a bright smile, as well as patiently listen to him ramble about his day, learning about Rutland, and why he chose to stay here. The "fans" would visit, asking to take selfies, hear about funny stories, and what he missed about public service. Every time, he would spin the truth, change subjects, or just smile and wave and move on. Some of his political charm that lingered. That would never change. How to win a crowd and lighten the mood with a witty anecdote.

The kitchen had finally shrunk from the Goliath that stared him down every morning. Breakfast was easy. Sandwiches too. Roasted chicken with vegetables? He got that down pat. Flank stank? That needed more work. Thank goodness for delivery services. It took some time, but he finally was confident to make a simple meal for Marcus or Luther or whoever wanted something to eat. The portion sizes were weird. He kept preparing for more people. Leftovers did not taste good at all and yet he would catch himself making more than he needed. Another layer of the dream smashed.

Then there was the bedroom. It was a nice size but still, not quite right. Attempting to trick his mind, he found himself on the right side. It just felt better.

It wrecked him to watch her interviews and see her name in the paper. The politician knew he could do some good by giving his two cents, but he discouraged. He kept his promise to those he left behind. He would stay away for as long as he could. But he had to do something. The library itself wasn't appealing to him. Why focus on himself when he could put attention on others. But he remained patient.

He waited.

One hundred fucking days and he was over it. Marcus was beyond fed up with his pity party. After a few tough conversations, they made plans, talking with local officials, and organizing how the foundation would affect change in their new community and beyond. There was hope in that regard. He could turn the negatives of his new life into something meaningful.

But when everyone retired for the evening, the torment would start again. The insults and passive aggressive remarks made by his deceased father, were resurfacing in his mind. That as soon as his crown was passed to the next President, he would be useless. Unable to function as a person. The loss of power would cripple him - bringing him to his knees in surrender to the weapon that was tucked away. The gift he wished he had never received, but could never let go. He tried not to overdo it with the bourbon or the rare glass of red, but it was incredibly hard to remain focused and be himself. The brightness in his blue eyes were fading away. He was becoming a shell of the vibrant man the world had come to know.

It was becoming more clear.

He was alone and he was hated it. The heartbreaking, can't breathe, "I have nothing" kind of solitude that could not be hidden by sunglasses or a crowd. It kept him up at night and left him cold during the day. The years in Washington prohibited him from asking himself the toughest question. Was he alright being alone?

The legacy that was built for him meant nothing now. He couldn't even get through the day without those awful thoughts and quit.

He needed help.

But where could he go? What was he going to do, without sending alarms all over? Weakness was a trait that almost beaten out of him. He wasn't allowed to show how he truly felt and that pride and shame kept him from receiving the help he craved. After the second election, when he was broken for so many reasons, he was desperate. He had nowhere to go. Ending it all appeared to be the best solution. Somehow the flicker of hope kept him alive.

Then, he remembered the pep talks and encouragement he received from her. The letters that piled up in the office from citizens who received hope from his story of endurance. Plus the constant nudging of his new right hand man and the FaceTime dates he would have with Teddy. His pride and joy. His true legacy.

Without his inner circle, he probably would have dug himself into a deeper hole. It took a while but he was gradually crawling out of that darkness. He had something to live for. He still had a purpose. With his new dedication to himself and serving others, they would be able to see him for him. Not covered by a fancy title or the people who were connected to him in the history books.

In the end, he knew he had to step out into the light. Moving forward was the only key to his success. But _she_ was the cloud that fogged his thinking. That was the problem; her physical absence and the presence of her in his mind was halting his progress. As he sat in the living room, surrounded by memories, He needed her. He wanted what they had before, but without limits and obstacles. She had his heart; he wasn't letting go, just yet.

But when real life greeted every day, he knew there were decisions that needed to be made. Whether or not she was by his side. That would be the hard part. He didn't know if he could do this but trying was the only way he could find out.

He deserved to be free and to finally have a life outside the prison walls of the White House.

The question now...

Could he finally find peace and have the perfect life he dreamed about?


End file.
